She had slipped out with her rucksack and rope, made her way with a skipping step, eager anticipation in her stride, to her waiting desire. It was early morning, a Sunday, when others would lie in and none would disturb her. But time had made her blossom into the fullness of womanhood, she was now 18, and her affection for play in the soft sand had blossomed with her, into a lustful longing to let her liquid-like lover linger on her bare skin, flow freely all around her, maybe within her too. Panicking, she had scrambled and clambered out, her slight weight aiding her escape. It had been some years since she had discovered it, as a younger, slimmer, almost androgynous girl, playing and splashing in the shallow puddles until one time she had ventured too far out and sank screaming into the sucking depths. as soft as silk, yet as strong as a bull. And waiting here, eternally, was her deep, dark secret paramour. Helen gazed, fascinated by the wondrous stretch of soft, enticing mud-like quicksand that filled the clearing, in the deep, dark sensual shadows of the forest.
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